


Bittersweet

by let_it_out



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Dystopia, M/M, Omega Verse, SHIELD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-26
Updated: 2013-05-07
Packaged: 2017-11-17 02:43:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/546771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/let_it_out/pseuds/let_it_out
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where alphas run everything, Clint Barton finds himself having very different ideas to the general populace.  Biology isn't everything.  Yet, as much as he wants people to realize that, no one else seems to think he has a valid point.  It's just how things are. Nothing he can say or do can change that.</p><p>So, Clint works with what he has and tries to live as best he can. That is until a SHIELD agent tries to recruit him and show him that not everyone is willing to dismiss him so easily.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Unconventional A/B/O series. If you're looking for your standard A/O pairing fic this probably isn't for you. However, if you want to try something different and new, then I'd love for you to stick around and give this fic a chance and let me know what you think. It's my first time working with in the Omegaverse, so I hope I bring something original to it.
> 
> Warnings will be added to the top of each chapter (as well as in the overall notes) as they appear. I'm not entirely sure everything that will feature in this work at the moment, so if you want to wait for the comprehensive list before venturing onwards, it might be best to wait for the complete work. If you think I'm missing a warning, please let me know.
> 
> Warnings include: brief descriptions of child abuse, misogynistic language, mentions of non-con and dub-con practices, mentions of the sexual slave trade of omegas and as a consequence unwanted pregnancies (possibility of them being forced to take to term), brief descriptions of violence.

Alphas were bastards. All right, all right, so maybe Clint was a _little_ bit biased, but the fact still remained. Really, it did. He hadn't yet met an alpha he liked. Then again, the _wonderful_ alpha role models he'd had so far in his lifetime involved an abusive, drunken bastard of a father, a brother who'd abandoned him to fend for himself when he was still a kid and an archery master who'd beaten the shit out of him every time he missed a shot. However, Clint supposed that his experience hadn't exactly been the norm. At least it wasn't if you listened to the adverts on TV. The ones that praised alphas for their flaw-free handling of, well, pretty much everything. To be anyone in the world, you had to be an alpha. It was a universally acknowledged fact that _every_ executive or director in _every_ company or organization was an alpha. Who else could be _trusted_? No one else had the brains or brawn or sense to make the world into the _marvelous_ , _amazing_ place that it was. It was a world where you were _lucky_ to be treated as a second class citizen if you were anything but an alpha. Didn’t that just sound damn near _perfect_?

Betas weren't actually that bad. They tended to stick to themselves. It made sense. Unlike the alphas, they didn't really have any power. Jobs came to them easily enough. A beta could do almost anything they wanted as long as they understood that they were never going to be allowed to be the best at anything. Even if it turned out that they did have superior skills to an alpha. Unfortunately, they were just not _genetically_ predisposed to be who they needed to be for _that_ privilege. Although they didn't make situations better, at least they tended not to act like superior assholes all the time. Of course, sometimes, should an omega be in heat around them, they may get a bit rowdier, but they tended to not shove a person up against the wall and try to mount them unlike other people.

Clint Barton, of course, was neither of those. Instead, he was an omega. The lowest of the low unless he was in heat and _then_ he was a prized possession that everyone wanted and salivated over. A time when he was looked at as though he were a piece of meat, dangled in front of a starving tiger all because his genetic makeup had deemed him omega. He didn't have a problem with being an omega per se. Actually, if there wasn't so much of a social stigma about being one, then he would proudly proclaim to anyone who'd listen about how much he loved being an omega. So, he had a self-lubricating asshole and got super horny every few months? It wasn't exactly a big deal. Yes, he craved someone to dominate him and fill him and make everything feel better during those times, but he'd gladly keep it all because it's who he was. Unfortunately, his attitude didn't go down well with people. However, just because he was an omega didn't mean he couldn't go about masculine posturing when he wanted to. The alphas definitely weren't too keen on that, but he was still male no matter what was between his legs. That Clint didn't give a shit if they thought they were better because they had a freaking knot was even more poorly received. No, his only problem, what it all came down to, was that he couldn't do whatever job he wanted even when he had the skills in glorious abundance. Instead he was relegated to menial tasks, scraping a minimum wage if he was lucky.

Not that his overall pride and indifference were how he used to feel.

It was something he'd always known, ever since he was a little kid. Omegas got treated like shit by _a lot_ of people. That was the world he lived in; had grown up knowing this was the case. Genetics dictated that they were barely human and that was what he'd truly believe for the longest time. Unfortunately, it had become more of a problem than anyone had ever expected.

An age ago, back when puberty had started, the changes in his body had kicked into overdrive, he'd hated the fact that instead of being an alpha like Barney his body was distancing them even further. That had been the last straw for Barney. There was no way he was having a pussy for a brother. Barney had left Clint in the circus to fend for himself. A scrawny fourteen-year-old going through his first heat surrounded by men, and women, who didn't much care how old you were. It certainly hadn't been the high point of Clint's teenage years. They hadn't touched him, not even come close. Not until after he had returned, completely wrecked and worn out, having missed days of work and was then beaten for his crime of disappearing.

However, that time had taught Clint a lot, and set in motion the pattern Clint had lived by ever since. He kept himself away from everyone and anyone as soon as he felt his heat coming on. Something that important was a thing he started to be able to predict with incredible accuracy. If he didn't want to end up having someone force themselves on him when he couldn't think for himself, let alone fend for himself, it was imperative. So he took precautions: somewhere high, somewhere other people couldn't get to him, somewhere he could get through the fever, desperation and overwhelming need to be knotted in comfort. If Clint was going to sleep with someone, then he wanted it to be because he chose them. Not because his uninformed body was telling him he should and signaling to anyone in the general vicinity that he would be happy to take them on.

Clint was unusual for an omega; he knew that. He’d been told often enough. There wasn't a hurtful thing he hadn't heard from a pissed off alpha when he wouldn't just turn over and let himself be fucked, or from a fellow omega who just couldn't grasp why he didn't like the loss of control the heats brought. Betas tended not to care either way. It wasn't as though they had any expectations piled upon them in the first place, so they tended to not really care what he, or any other omega, did. Not to say that they definitely wouldn't try something if he was to be around them when a heat came.

So, Clint was just tried to live his life as best he could. Granted, his lack of formal education and the fact he was an omega severely hindered the jobs he was allowed to do, but he got by better than some. Once out of the circus, he felt a lot better about himself. He was no longer surrounded by people just wanting to bring him down. Instead, he was freer. If Clint could do what he wanted, and as long as he had some sort of roof to live under and a meager amount of food that he could live on, then he was happy. However, if he had to do some less than desirable things with his skills to be able to do that, then that’s what he did.

It wasn't too long after the first time he killed a person that SHIELD came looking.

That was when everything really changed.


	2. Hope you guessed my name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: mentions of the sexual slave trade of omegas and as a consequence unwanted pregnancies (possibility of them being forced to take to term), brief descriptions of violence.

Clint was minding his own business when it happened. He was in an off the beaten path dive bar. An old TV mounted on the wall was showing a game he wasn't interested in, but the buzz of conversation amongst the patrons produced a pleasant background noise over the commentary of the game. It was a little place, rather rough around the edges and run down; the seats and tables having definitely seen better days and given the sticky surfaces of they could definitely do with a good clean. The smell of smoke and stale alcohol hung heavy in the air and sank deep into his lungs with every breath, but it was comfortable and familiar, even though it wasn't entirely pleasant.

The bar was a place he often found himself when he had nowhere else to go. Over the years, he had come to know the owner enough to be left to his own devices for the whole night as long as he bought a cheap beer or two, possibly a snack. In return, he got to stay someplace warm and out of the rain when he needed it, at least until it was throwing out time when he had to either find a place to crash or wander the street on dead feet until it was late enough in the day to find somewhere new to spend the his time or managed to pick up some work. Still, he ended up in the bar more often than he would like, only occasionally getting together the money to rent a room.

Silence settled quickly over the inhabitants of the bar when the door swung open to reveal the alpha. It was highly unusual for one to turn up in there. Most of the people in the bar were betas, or the occasional omega, like Clint, who had enough money and the inclination to spend it drowning their sorrows in regards to what was going on in the rest of their lives. The atmosphere turned cold and uneasy. People either straining to look at the door, or completely avoid looking up at all. Many of the people shifted uneasily in their seats or, as was the case of the group standing over by the pool table, not moving at all. No one knew what had been done to bring the alpha down on them.

The alpha was dressed like something out of a public service announcement on alpha business people. Its suit was neatly pressed and spotlessly clean; all sharp lines and expensive material. Probably something designer, but Clint had no idea how to tell the difference. A nice suit was a nice suit. In fact, the jacket alone looked like it cost more money than Clint had ever had at one time in his life, possibly greater than the sum of his life overall.

As the alpha strode into the bar, the patrons close to their route backed down and away unsure of how to act with the interloper in their midst. Its movements were unhurried and casual as if the alpha did this every day. Just coming into places where it was unwanted and unknown. The expression on its face didn't betray it if it were uncomfortable in the knowledge that it wasn't welcome. Even the alpha's scent gave off no tell-tale signs to betray its feelings. As far as Clint could tell, everything that showed on its face and in the alpha's posture was how it felt: completely and utterly comfortable.

When the alpha sat down opposite Clint in his booth, Clint curled his hand protectively around his bowl of fries, his other locking around the neck of his beer bottle as he knocked back a slug. His heart rate kicked up a notch, his stomach twisting with unease, but he'd been able to school his expressions enough during his life to know that his face didn't betray him in his discomfort either. Even though his stomach wanted to rebel, he picked up a handful of the over salted fries and shoved them into his mouth, barely tasting them but chewing and swallowing anyway. He wasn't going to back down or show weakness just because this was unusual. His life was unusual. This was nothing.

Murmuring broke out across the bar. Clint couldn't hear it clearly, there was a buzzing in his mind that was overwhelming it due to his unease, but he knew that they were all talking about him and what he'd done to have an alpha track him down. He was there enough, for have most of them know his feelings about alphas and his aversion to them. Whilst none of them really shared it, they didn't shun him for how he felt. This probably wouldn't help him in any way though. Not that he'd done anything. It would never be a plan of his to have an alpha on his tail. That this alpha had come after him, sat down with him, was likely going to be the talk of the bar for weeks.

It wasn't as though Clint hadn't socialized with alphas before - not that socializing was necessarily the correct word for what he did with them, dealt with maybe - but they didn't tend to come looking for him. Not with how he behaved. Not with how vocal he was about his feelings. Never would any of those that did associate with him have come to speak to him in public in a place like this. Shady back alley deals were normally how they'd do it. Advertising you needed an omega for something wasn't something anyone would want on the record to tarnish their reputation. Alphas often saw it like they were admitting they weren't man enough to solve their own problems.

Clint loved the thrill he got from accepting in work from an alpha. Of having them come to _him_ to solve their trouble. His body warmed with pride and self-satisfaction that his skills were needed. Not that anything ever ran smoothly with working with alphas. Sure, Clint would take contracts from them, but they more often than not screwed him over when he did work for them. Ever since the first time he'd been hired, done his job and not been paid, he'd changed his policy to include being paid half upfront. More if he could manage it. However, with few people happy to give him the money for the job as it was, it wasn't always something he could manage and if he was that desperate, then sometimes he had to take a job on faith. Omegas weren't trusted to actually do as they were told. It was ironic really, since the fact being pliant, mindless drones was what they were prized for. Also, it was a complete lie spread by disgruntled alphas, because omegas would willingly do any work well and without complaint if it meant they had a paycheck at the end of it. They were just never given a chance to prove themselves. Luckily, Clint had enough people with a fragment of trust in him to be able to get jobs without half as much hassle as most omegas. Not that most omegas would ever do the jobs he did. An omega working for the wrong side of the law was as good as one signing up for prison. Not that omegas ever stayed long in custody. Quite often, they were just sold off or given to alphas who would bond with them and bring them into line. As much as Clint feared that ever happening to him, he had to do what he could, and he was damn careful about making sure his tracks were covered.

Clint had screwed up this time though. Not with keeping himself safe, just with how he'd treated the whole situation. He had been getting rather desperate for money and had accepted a job he normally wouldn't have even considered. They'd asked him to kill one of their rivals in the criminal underworld. It had taken a lot of thought to accept. Just because his skill in marksmanship transferred well enough over into him being a hired gun, didn't mean that he was comfortable ending a life. Still, his aim was always true and he needed to eat. That he'd thrown up what little was in his stomach afterwards in disgust at himself, only he knew.

What had swayed him in the end was the money. The price had been a lot higher than what he was used to, it would have set him up with everything he needed for _months_ and he'd even settled for quarter of it up front. They hadn't paid him when he'd finished the job. Instead he got knocked to the ground and with the added bonus of a kick to the guts. A couple more blows had landed higher before he had the chance to curl up in the fetal position in protection. 

They'd called him weak and worthless, told him how he wasn't good enough to even lick their boots, that he was just a jumped up omega with an overinflated ego and sense of importance. He hadn't bothered to argue with them. It would have just made them hurt him more and he couldn't afford to fix himself up if they did do more, or take the time off from finding work due to injuries. So he had just stayed down. Coughing and spluttering and blocking out their words as they tried to hurt him further with those. The men didn't know that he'd heard enough of it before for it to not even faze him. Once they'd left, in pain and bleeding, Clint had pulled himself to his feet. His ribs had been sore, and Clint had desperately hoped that they were nothing more than bruised if he was lucky.

It was nearly three weeks since then, now. The little money he had been given starting to become sparse, but at least his ribs were on their way to feeling back to normal. Unfortunately, there had still been the additional cost of pain meds and ice packs to treat the bruising, which had been an expense his wished he hadn't had to pay for.

"Good evening, Mr. Barton," the alpha said casually, placing its arms on the table, not leaning forwards or into Clint's space, but just _there_ , hovering.

Clint's eyes narrowed at the words. He brought his drink up for another sip to moisten his mouth that suddenly felt like it had been drained of all moisture. However, he kept his eyes on the alpha the whole time, not for a split second letting it out of his sight.

That it knew his name was something he didn't like. How the alpha knew, he had no idea. It was one thing that it had just coming to look for him, another that it actually knew his name. His associates had been calling him Hawkeye for years. Clint was especially suspicious when the alpha just threw it around so casually, addressing him by his surname of all things. It was a courtesy that was never extended towards omegas. No one had ever called him mister. Normally, it was just "hey you" or "omega" or the occasional "bitch" if they didn't know his name and he had rubbed them the wrong way. So, pretty much anyone. This change made him wary. Already, he didn't like to trust, but this just stank of something that was a trap to lull him into a false sense of security before it pounced and let its true colors show.

"Hello," he said slowly, drawing out the word. He didn't add any title to the end of his greeting, but if that bothered the alpha, it didn't show. Clint stared it straight in the eye, challenging it to do something, but it was as though he wasn't doing anything out of place or disrespectful at all with how the alpha smiled slightly. The alpha acted as though it was nice to meet him or something equally unlikely.

"I'd like to talk to you about taking a position with the organization that I work for. We're known as the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division. You may not have heard of us."

Oh, Clint had heard of them. Sort of anyway. Hushed rumors. The word SHIELD had started being heard. People knew to avoid them; it wasn't a word associated with protection anymore. Talk of something that people didn't know exactly what it was. Some sort of shady goings on, but actually on the right side of the law which made the people he dealt with scared on multiple levels. People were disappearing off the streets and weren't being seen again, but they weren't necessarily anyone who would have run afoul of a dodgy deal. They were just there one day and gone the next.

Yet to certain people, it was seen as a blessing. Whatever this was, it wasn't what usually happened. It was a common for omegas to get taken, which wasn't the case here. There was no gender discrimination in those allegedly snatched by SHIELD. Getting taken off the streets to be sex slaves or something similar was what normally happened to omegas. Something which wasn't what a lot of omegas wanted. A few did, those who were desperate enough. At least that way they had the money to feed themselves and any children they might end up having would also be provided for.

"We've noticed you, and your skills. We think you'd be a great asset to us. SHIELD specializes in neutralizing somewhat unusual threats, which I'd prefer not to discuss in further detail here." The alpha scanned the dingy room its eyes, multiple people rapidly turning their heads away when they were caught looking, but the agent made no move to say anything to them. Its gaze instead returned to Clint, transfixed on him and pinning him to his seat.

He felt he should point out that he was an omega, but there was no way that it didn't already know that. It was as clear as the fact it was an alpha. Clint's scent was unmistakable even if his attitude wasn't, especially since he wasn't on any sort of suppressant. What if that's why it was here though? What if his "skills" were that he was an omega? Just because Clint knew he had talent that had nothing to do with being an omega didn't mean SHIELD would see him in the same light.

The alphas presence had him quiet. He didn't understand it. Normally he would have mouthed off, said something dismissive in the hopes of having it gone straight away. However, part of him desperately wanted to hear it out, because what if the alpha was actually offering him something that meant he wasn't bouncing from place to place and job to job? If what he had been doing could even be called jobs. What if he could actually have the money to grant him the freedom to live how he wanted to? Maybe he could get his own place, a real home, even a pet. Clint had always wanted a dog. Just any little thing that would make him feel like he was living how he wanted in a world where everyone thought he should be living how they wanted.

"You being an omega has nothing to do with why we want you," it spoke, breaking into his thoughts which shattered around him. "We don't use our agents in that way. You have my word that we would never exploit anyone that way."

"I don't take suppressants," Clint warned sharply, but something in him fluttered excitedly at the agent's words. Not that he was thinking of taking the job. A top secret job. A top secret job in a top secret organization. That they were apparently talking about in a crowded bar. Not at all. "So if you expect me to just change a lifetime of not taking them for some shitty position in the pseudo-military, or government or whoever you actually align yourselves with, then you've got another thing coming."

"Clint, may I call you Clint?" Agent whatever-their-name-was asked.

Clint shrugged slightly and nodded for the agent to continue. It was his name. The agent might as well use it. Not many people did any more. His own name was certainly better than most of things he'd found himself responding to in recent years.

"Good. Thank you. Clint, we have absolutely no plans to make you change any of you habits regarding your heats. We at SHIELD strive to ensure that all of our employees are in control of their own decisions with their personal lives. As long as you take the necessary precautions to not get the entire base stirred up, then we don't care how you deal with them. We hire our people because of their skills and as long as they do their job without interference, they can do as they wish with their sexual habits."

The alpha slid out of the booth and smoothly to its feet. Around them the bar once again fell into an uneasy silence, customers and staff alike all holding their breath to see what would happen. Their hungry gazes were narrowed in on the two of them and it made Clint feel more exposed than when it had just been the alpha staring at him. Still, he sat there and endured it, not wishing to lose any ground for any reason.

Digging around in the pocket of its jacket, the alpha produced a small rectangular business card with contact details printed in crisp black lettering. "Should you decide you want to join us, to talk more - it isn't a shitty position, by the way - then here's my direct line." With a small flourish, the card was handed to Clint. "Call that from anywhere, even collect from a payphone if you have to, and I'll answer. My name's Agent Lin, by the way."

For a split second, it looked as though she was about to offer Clint her hand to shake, but thought better of it since Clint had stayed resolutely seated, even with her standing over him. "Thank you for your time, Clint." With that, she turned brusquely on her heel and sailed out of the door, leaving an unsteady Clint in her wake.

Slowly, the chatter around the bar picked back up; tension easing out of the atmosphere like air from a withering balloon. Clint's nerves which had been set alight with fear and apprehension faded, leaving behind only the slow burn of anticipation for what this all could mean. If he were to take her up on this offer, his life could change forever, but then he didn't truly know what she wanted from him would be a good thing? Could it be better than this? Certainly it couldn't be any worse.

He ran his finger around the edge of the only physical proof that she had even been there at all - the small piece of cardboard proudly proclaiming her name and number, enticing him to use the digits and phone. For the first time in his life, Clint Barton actually thought an alpha could be the one to help him and not crush him further into the dirt. The real question wasn't whether he trusted her word. The real question was if he could trust himself to let her help.


	3. Coming in from the cold

A week after meeting the alpha - or Agent Lin, Clint supposed he should call her - he couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. There was always a shadow at the corner of his eye; it clouded his vision and loomed darkly in his mind. Whatever it was, it didn't seem to get closer. Instead, the haunting presence kept to the edge of his sight, never straying directly into his view. 

At first, Clint had tried to see if he was imagining things. He had attempted to surreptitiously look in the direction from which he had felt eyes on him, but to his utter frustration that had turned out to be as difficult as trying to catch smoke in his hands. Soon enough he had abandoned that plan, even if sometimes he had caught a glimpse of something when he had looked. It was only ever a quick sighting. A slight movement if he saw anything at all, something that was as flighty and swift as a bird, but at the same time, whatever it was, was far too large for that (not that birds were in the habit of flying away just because you _looked_ in their direction).

Clint didn't know if it was SHIELD watching him. It could have been anyone. He knew potential clients of his sometimes scoped him out, but he'd never been watched for this long before and certainly never by someone as skilled as whoever was currently on his tail. Even though he never saw enough to ease his mind, he couldn't stop looking over his shoulder.

The fall chill had yet to truly take hold of the city. It was the first time Clint had been settled on the East Coast this time of year, and the weather was surprisingly mild. Growing up in Iowa had been the only other time Clint had remained at a fixed location for a significant period and, from what he could remember, that had been colder by this point. There was even one year where he could recall there being snow. A time before everything had turned to shit, when Clint's biggest worry had been a giggling Barney shoving a handful of the frosted powder down the back of his sweater before running back inside the house. Still, he didn't plan to stay out on the streets much longer.

He picked up the phone.

It had been easy enough to find a payphone on the streets of New York. Well, given the areas Clint tended to frequent, it took a little bit of time to find one that was in full working order, but it was still more than manageable once he had set his mind to making the call. Lin had been right, Clint hardly had his own landline he could do it from, and people weren't too fond of him just dropping in places and using their phones without paying.

He'd kept the business card, had taken it off the table and stuffed it in a pocket the day he met her. Its presence now a constant threat of what his life could be. Clint pushed his free hand between the layers of fabric, fingers seeking out the scrap of card. When he pulled it out, it was slightly crumpled. Faint lines remained; they spidered their way through the once neat font even after he straightened it out.

Following the instructions, phone now tightly pressed between his ear and hunched shoulder, Clint placed the collect call. The phone rang impatiently in his ear as though it was his fault he had to call.

"Agent Lin speaking." Her voice was strong and steady in his ear. Clear enough that she could have been stood next to him, magically blocking out the hubbub of passing cars and people.

"You have your men following me," Clint accused, reaching up and to transfer the receiver into his left hand. His fingers gripped the phone tightly as he spoke. A little shuffling around his bag on the glass littered floor, and he was positioned so that he could see the people passing him by. His back nearly pressed into the hard metal of the where the phone was secured. There wasn't much space, but Clint did what he could with what he had. Despite trying to give himself the best position to see everything, he still couldn't locate the eyes he could feel watching. "I want you to call them off."

"I can't do that, Clint." He heard the rustling of paper and tapping of keyboard keys in the background, the occasional burst of conversation that he couldn't quite catch the words of as well. "They're there for your protection."

"I don't want protection!" he started with a shout, before curling himself around the receiver more and lowering his voice lest he attract attention from the street. "I don't need protection; I can look after myself just fine. I've done it so far."

The sound of his own harsh breathing reached Clint's ears. Clint could feel the thundering of the blood through his body in anger at the alpha for trying to tell him what was best. He could look after himself just fine. He didn't need watching. He didn't need her.

"I'm surprised you even realized they were following you, Clint. It's not often our agents are so careless. Maybe we need to train them better," she mused.

Clint didn't give a damn about her precious agents. His life was being ruined by her doing this. Having people following him meant others would keep their distance from him if they realized. If he didn't get contracts, he didn't get money. If he didn't get money, he didn't eat. Let alone get a place to stay. Not that she should care, but if she was going to make out that it was in his best interest, she could at least bother to ask him what he actually wanted.

"Well, I'm not stupid. I know they're there, and they don't need to be. Omegas aren't some weak little things you can get your rocks off protecting," Clint snarled.

There was a strange noise on the other end of the line. It took Clint a second to realize that it was a chuckle. She was laughing at him. The anger within him built. He opened his mouth, but his words of annoyance caught in his throat when she started to speak.

"Oh, I know that. Do you think we don't have omegas working for SHIELD? Some of our best agents are omegas, Clint. We don't believe that omegas are any less capable of looking after themselves than betas or alphas are. All of us are individual people, after all."

"Then why are you having people follow me and making sure that I'm okay?"

She sighed. "It's partly because we don't want to lose you. We really do want you to work for us, and had I known you'd pick up on the fact my agents were following you so easily, then I probably would have done something else."

Clint snorted at her words, but didn't do anything to interrupt her.

"However," the alpha continued, ignoring Clint, "mainly because I felt it would be best given your latest - shall we say job? - that you have some back up."

The ill-tempered fire that coursed through him turned to ice, jagged and sharp in his veins, and his heart felt like it had stopped. Did that mean SHIELD knew about what he had done? That he had killed? Was that what they wanted him for, to be a killer for them?

"I'm fine," he mumbled distractedly, twisting his hand to pick at a hole in his fraying sleeve. He had thought he'd done a good job, that no one could possibly know that he had killed that guy. The death being traced back to him was the worst thing he could imagine. These people worked for the government, what if they just handed him over to the police and had him thrown in jail for killing someone? "I'll be fine."

"You're just a kid," she told him. "One who's gotten in far over his head. Is it wrong to want to help you get your head above water?"

"I'm not a child. I haven't been one in years." It was true. Just because Clint had seen himself as an adult for as long as he'd been alone and able to fend for himself, didn't mean anyone else had been of the same opinion, but it was indisputable now. He was pretty damn sure that being old enough to legally drink in whichever state he was in had to count towards him being grown up.

"No. Okay. You aren't. You're still young though."

Clint huffed out an indignant breath at her words.

"You're still young," she repeated, clearly thinking he needed to hear it, "and you're still in over your head. However, if you want, I'll call off my team."

"What do you want in return?" Clint asked. Nothing in this life was given for free. _Nothing_. "Is this all just some scheme to get me to work for you?"

"Have you even considered my offer?" The alpha threw back at him. "Regardless, as I said before, we didn't expect you to realize they were there. How could they be being used to pressure you?"

Clint kept his mouth shut. He had thought about it, and he was uncertain. The only reason he had even called her was so that he knew how to deal with the people following him. He had no desire to kill innocent people, or hurt them even, but if it had turned out that those following him were out to get him, then Clint would have had to do something. As much as he resented their presence, SHIELD didn't actually appear to be a threat to him physically, just to his livelihood.

"Will you call them off? Even if I don't agree to work for you?"

"Yes. I'll even make them stand down now if you want?"

She didn't wait for his answer. Clint heard the muffled sounds of her covering the receiver as she gave orders. He hoped that it was the alphas actually doing what she said she would. In the short time that he had known her, Clint had yet to feel as though she would explicitly deny him wishes.

The alpha must have lifted her hand, because the next time she spoke, her voice was clear and unmuffled once more. "No one will follow you. Not anymore. Well, once they get the order anyway."

Clint nodded to himself and his hand stilled. It still felt like there were eyes in him, but he'd give her a bit of time before he called foul.

"Good. I'm going to go now," he said, not waiting for an answer. 

Clint went to replace the receiver. His stomach still roiled uneasily at her revelation about knowing what he'd done. Tense, his hand hovered millimeters from putting it down for a few seconds before he pulled the phone back to his ear. Part of him was expecting him to hear the dull buzz of a disconnected line. Instead, there was the now familiar hubbub of Lin's office. "You didn't hang up," he stated in confusion.

"No, you were the one who was going to hang up," she replied, her tone sounded bored to Clint's ear, but, at the same time, if she wanted to get rid of him that much, then why was she still on the phone? "Is there something else you want to talk about? I don't have all day to be on the line to you. Some of us have jobs."

It stung. That she would throw that at him. Clint not having a job was hardly something he could help. Only, he could, couldn't he? All he had to do was agree with her and he'd be whisked away to some super secret base and have a job. An actual _job_ , one that wasn't going to drop him as soon as he'd done his task. He wanted to snap at her, wanted to cause some sort of scene at the injustice of it all, but she couldn't even see him and it was hardly her fault. This alpha had come out of nowhere to actually offer him a job and he was being an ungrateful brat over it all.

"Some of us are still thinking," he resorted to saying, a sharp edge to his voice. "Some of us don't know if we can trust random people who come out of nowhere and promise us things that we never imagined we'd get." The sound of his hand as it thumped against the glass of the booth shocked Clint and he clamped his mouth shut, blowing out a long breath through his nose in an attempt to relieve more tension. He felt as though he was scrambling madly to keep calm, waves of fear and anger rocking his very core even though the presence of Lin on the other end was anything but infuriating.

"We're not forcing you, Clint." The words were calm and slow and steady and Clint felt the edge being sanded of his tension. "I've called my team off; you're free to do as you please. You always were. Just," she paused, "just keep my number and remember you can call me whenever you need to?"

"Wait," Clint's voice cracked as he spoke up. "I'll come in. I... Let me come in?"

"Do you need to pick anything up?"

Clint heard the clattering of a keyboard once more.

"No, I have everything I need. Well, everything I own anyway." He had a stash or two around the city, but it was nothing he couldn't pick up again, or buy new.

"Good, good," Lin muttered. "Are you okay with the team we had watching you bringing you in? If you'd prefer, I can have a different one with you in about thirty minutes."

Clint blinked. "Either's fine."

"They'll be with you shortly then. Go with them and they'll get you settled into your new accommodation. I'll see you tomorrow morning."

There was a click, and the phone went dead. Clint stood there. His blood thrummed as his pulse pounded away. He probably had enough time to run, if he wanted. He could still get away.

After a moment, he took a deep breath and placed the phone back on the hook. Bending down, he scooped up his bag, and pushed through the glass door before swinging his rucksack onto his shoulders.

A couple of minutes passed, and a large black van pulled up at the side of the road. It looked intimidating, but the beta male who stepped out of it had a friendly smile. He didn't offer Clint his hand, but greeted him warmly enough. For once, instead of battering away at him, the wind seemed to be gently herding him along.

Clint sat huddled in the corner watching as the team sent to keep an eye on him (two alpha males, an omega female along with three male betas and a female one, Clint didn't know about the driver) joked around and stashed their various weapons in the specially designed shelves on the interior of the van. They didn't involve him directly, or introduce themselves properly, instead each of them looked him over with as much scrutiny as he did them.

Eyes were on him again.

This time, he didn't feel hunted.


	4. Yesterday is over

When the vehicle came to a stop, Clint let the agents all leave before him. Other than their initial scrutiny, none of them appeared to be paying him any attention now. They all filed out like sheep; invisible dogs snapping at their heels. Clint's eyes swept over each one as they passed him by. He cataloged what little he could from the way they held themselves and how they responded to his presence, but whatever training they had received had seemingly made them too professional to give the stray they'd brought in much thought. Apparently his voluntary submission had made him harmless in their eyes. Not a threat to them at all.

Only one of them glanced in Clint's direction; one of the alphas. It was only a split-second look and a quirk of lips, but Clint saw. Clint knew how he'd normally react to an alpha staring at him, but it was hardly that. The normal feeling of panic in his stomach that always surfaced at being looked over like a prime side of beef wasn't present. Instead of lecherous eyes coveting his flesh, they had appeared to be curious; the smile one of reassurance and not the promise of a sordid fantasy they wanted to act out on him.

Clint had no idea how to react. So he didn't. He just sat there.

After a moment of sitting alone, Clint took a deep breath and let the air sink deep into his lungs and draw his focus. He exhaled as he stood, hefted the familiar weight of his backpack in his hand and hopped down, landing with a muffled thud as his boots struck the ground.

All of the SHIELD agents were huddled around the beta who had been the one to greet Clint - so he supposed that was who was in charge. Feeling uneasy, Clint stood at the periphery of the group; close enough to seem part of it, but he maintained enough distance that he didn't feel penned in. It was not as though he was one of them anyway.

A quick look around where they stood told him they were in an underground parking garage. Fluorescent overhead lighting gave an off-white glow. No natural light pierced the darkness. The far side of the room hosted a ramp that led upwards and presumably out. There were black cars and black vans everywhere, all with tinted windows. Some of the vehicles even sported an eagle logo. Everything screamed secret agency. Clint had to hold back a laugh at the fact something supposedly hidden made it obvious as to what they were.

The group shifted. Clint wasn't sure what caused them to, so clutched his bag more tightly. If things turned, he wouldn't have time to assemble his bow, but he had the gun he'd gotten (not used, but he'd panicked and thought he could use it instead of his bow in a moment of weakness) for his last job with a full magazine and a knife tucked into his right boot.

"All right then."

The sudden break in silence made Clint jump. He scolded himself mentally for doing so. 

"I need everyone upstairs for debriefing." The team leader looked tired as he spoke; there was a tension in his posture that belied the easy stance he adopted.

Clint wondered just how difficult it had been to keep tabs on him. After all, he had apparently warranted a six-person team watching his every move. They might not be too threatened by him at the moment, but there had been a lot of people tracking him.

For a moment the beta surveyed his team and then spoke, "Agent Bagley, please escort Mr. Barton to his room and get him settled in. You'll find me in my office when you're done."

Clint was surprised to see one of the alpha males, the one who had smiled at him, nod and agree with a respectful, "sir," before he turned to Clint and gestured with an open palm the direction he wished Clint to take. Academically, Clint knew that the alphas would be answering to the beta, after he had worked out that was who was in charge, but to see it in action was another thing altogether. There was no wave of annoyance coming from the alpha, Bagley, that he had been given an order to babysit Clint. It was though it was just common place, an everyday occurrence that didn't require even a raised eyebrow. He just followed along obediently without question. As though being ordered around was perfectly within his alpha nature. Ordered around by a _beta_ of all things. Yes, Clint was having some difficulty coming to terms with the fact.

The alpha walked Clint over to the elevator that was set into the wall a short distance from where they had parked. There was a keypad instead of a call button. Bagley swiped his ID badge through it and typed in a five digit code (Clint caught the first three numbers, but missed the last two) before the number display above the door flashed to life and started to count down to their floor.

"Want me to carry your bag?" the alpha offered as the door opened with a ping and a rattle.

Clint glared at him, stepped into the elevator and shifted his bag onto his right shoulder, should the alpha be tempted to just take it anyway.

"Was just offering," Bagley said with a disinterested shrug before leaning forward to push the button for the third floor and crossing his arms across his chest. "No need to get your boxers in a bunch over it." He sniffed and turned his head away from Clint.

He watched Bagley out of the corner of his eye. The alpha was not much taller than Clint and about as broad in the shoulders. However, it appeared that the alpha had the opportunity to keep in better shape, what with him not being on the run like Clint and having access to regular food, and he possessed muscles Clint admired. Not overly huge, just perfectly toned. Clint looked away; having his babysitter think he was checking him out was the last thing Clint needed.

The elevator suddenly juddered to a halt and Clint blamed that for how his stomach lurched. When the doors sprang open, Clint practically leaped through them and out into the corridor. It stretched out before him for a good distance before reaching a junction and cutting off to the left. Door after door lined both sides of the passage each with its own keypad attached. His feet made little noise on the gray linoleum as he followed a couple of paces behind Bagley midway down the hall. They stopped at the door with three-zero-five in a little plaque to the side of it.

"This one's yours. They're all set up with a standard code until someone moves in," the alpha explained as he typed in one, two, three, four, five on the pad. "It's best to change it though, obviously. I'll show you how before I leave." He opened the door for Clint who peered into the room, checking that it was indeed empty of people before stepping inside.

Bagley followed Clint, acting as though the whole place couldn't be safer.

"They're trying to get some fancy, new thing set up where it reads our fingerprints instead though," the alpha continued, babbling away like a particularly chatty parakeet. "Not that just anyone can walk in now. When you reset your code, it's stored in the database and only people with pretty much Director Fury level clearance have access to it. You know, in case of emergencies. What else? Oh, you can lock the room down from the inside too. Well, obviously, but there's one that's just you locking your room as standard and another that locks it down completely that can only be operated by you, and lifted by you, it's normally used by omegas and their partners during heats. A panic code also needs to be set up in case of emergency. You have to use that one wisely though. All uses of panic codes are reported and acted upon immediately."

Clint stood against the wall, his bag on his shoulder, and watched Bagley close the door behind him.

"You don't talk much, huh?" the alpha rubbed his hand against the back of his neck, just high enough to brush the dark, close-cut hairs at the base of his skull.

"Maybe _you_ talk too much," Clint said sharply, but he had to admit that the information had been useful. It certainly seemed like a better idea than omegas being left to defend themselves in such close quarters with alphas from unwanted attention. Clint doubted, especially with new recruits, that omegas could just wander off base whenever a heat came up without filing for leave.

"Yeah, I guess I do. Just trying to help you settle in."

"I'm sure I'll figure things out without you. Bedroom, right?" Clint gestured around the room they were standing in. A bed shoved up to one wall, a freestanding closet at the base of it with a dresser against the opposite wall. There was a window that faced out onto a courtyard, Clint hadn't had a proper look out of it yet, but there seemed to be place for training, or maybe sports down there and what looked like it would be a rather nice little patch of green in summer. Windows stared back at him from ahead and to the sides, up at least eight stories. Clint didn't know whether it was all accommodation for the agents, or offices and conference rooms as well. There were two doors leading off the room other than the one they had entered through. "I'm guessing I have a bathroom and kitchen too. Really, I'll be fine. I don't need some alpha treating me like I can't wipe my own ass and then trying to get in it. I've lived alone for long enough. Believe me, I know how things work."

"Boy, you think a _lot_ of yourself, huh?" Bagley looked mildly amused and not half as pissed as Clint expected. "Listen here, Barton, I don't really care where you've come from, or what you've done, but don't think you can get away with talking to people here like that here." He stepped closer to Clint, but Clint just lifted his chin and stared back even though his instincts were screaming at him to run, and a small part just wanted him to bend over and beg. There was no way Clint was going to do either.

The alpha blinked, shook his head and stopped dead where he stood.

"You're trying to make me angry, and you don't even know me. You think you know what will make me angry? Well you don't. You want to alienate me? Just try." He walked by Clint, who watched him intently, but the alpha just sat down on the chair that accompanied the desk. His posture relaxed as he slumped down, legs spread and arms hanging loosely by his sides. "The higher-ups hear you talking like that and you'll be in trouble before you've even got your foot in the door."

Clint snorted and shuffled over to his bed where he climbed on and sat cross-legged with his bag slung across his lap. He was likely getting dirt all over the sheets, but the alpha didn't seem to care if he did.

"Not that it's _any_ of your business, Barton, but no matter how sweet you think your... _butt_ is, I have no interest in it. For one thing, I have no interest in males - omega or otherwise - and another is that I'm very happy with my girlfriend and we're planning on bonding on her twenty-first birthday." He grinned and it was huge and dopey and damn it, Clint could _see_ the love on his face, the softness of his eyes when he spoke, and if Clint were to say anything negative right now it would just be like kicking a puppy and then castrating him for good measure.

Instead, Clint looked down and picked at a fleck of dirt on the side of his boot. It crumbled off. Anything he could do to avoid seeing how Bagley was regarding him with curiosity. Clint suddenly felt very young and very out of place.

"How long have you been together?" Clint asked.

"Since we were sixteen. We met at school," the alpha started. He paused and Clint looked up. Bagley was smiling again and it hurt Clint to look at. Someone so effortlessly happy just seemed wrong. "I don't get to see her much. She's right clever. Pre-med. I was never really book smart, so I feel really lucky that SHIELD saw something in me."

Clint frowned and stopped picking at the loose mud. "I don't understand. You said you're to be bonded, right? So that makes her an omega. How can she be a doctor?"

The expression on Bagley's face turned dark, but Clint didn't think it had anything to do with him. Instead, it was more that the question had to be asked in the first place.

"A couple of colleges are trying to offer chances to minorities, well I mean not minorities like us minorities, it's not like there are huge numbers of alphas running around either, but where jobs are concerned, especially high level careers, omegas will never have a chance, most betas won't either, and they're trying to help introduce more people into the program."

Clint raised his eyebrow at Bagley. "Yeah, funnily enough I know what it's like for omegas."

"Well, it's a step forwards for omega rights. We both know there's no guarantee that she's going to actually get a job after this, but at least she's got a chance, you know?"

"You are unreal," Clint muttered to himself.

"What did you say?"

"Nothing." Clint forced a smile even though his mind was whirling. "Just, I hope everything works out for her. For the both of you."


End file.
